


Gift of the Animagi

by deedeeinfj



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/pseuds/deedeeinfj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift of the Animagi

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on Livejournal, 2003.

"You  _are_  aware that your breath smells worse than Buckbeak's, right?"  
  
"Really? Does he often wake you with a kiss?"  
  
Remus opened one eye and stared at the grinning face above his, trying with difficulty not to smile as the ends of the long, dark hair tickled his face. In truth, the breath had been fine, the kiss perfect, and Remus felt that there could be no better way to wake up. But he closed his eye again and shifted onto his side, his back to Sirius.  
  
"C'mon, it's not that bad, is it?" came a slightly hurt voice. He heard something like a sigh and knew that Sirius had exhaled into his palm to check the offending breath. "It's not bad at all, you git."  
  
Remus chuckled, then laughed outright as Sirius pulled him back towards himself. He made a half-hearted effort at resisting, but finally rolled onto his back again. "No, it's not bad," he said, reaching up to move Sirius' hair back from his face, then drawing the smiling mouth down to his own. "Not bad at all," he added against Sirius' lips.  
  
"Am I as good as Buckbeak?"  
  
"No. But if you want to get better, I'll give you private lessons."  
  
"That's awfully generous of you, Professor Lupin." For several minutes, they contented themselves with snogging, an activity in which Sirius actually needed very little guidance from his private instructor. "So..." he said, suddenly breaking off the kiss and propping himself up on his elbow. "What should we get Harry for Christmas?"  
  
Remus blinked, disappointed that the lesson had ended so abruptly. "We?" he repeated. Quite honestly, he hadn't thought much about presents of any kind. He had few people to buy them for, and nothing to buy them with. And then the way Sirius had phrased the question... It sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, for some reason he couldn't pinpoint.  
  
"Well, I thought... I thought we could go in on it together," said Sirius. "Not just in terms of money. I mean, give him a present from both of us. From us."  
  
Now he knew why the question pleased him so much. More than fifteen years ago, they had been searching Diagon Alley for a good present for James, Lily, and baby Harry. And Sirius saw the toy first. Remus couldn't even remember now what it was, but they had both pounced. Then Sirius had said, "It'll be from both of us. James and Lily give single presents now, don't they? If they're a 'we,' then we're a 'we.'" Quite apart from the fact that the last sentence had a kind of simple logic to it -- not to mention syntax that would have frightened anyone who knew anything about language -- it made him smile because Sirius had made a connection like that. That Sirius saw them in the same way he saw James and Lily. Together for good.  
  
"Remus?" said Sirius. "If you were planning to get him something on your own, that's fine. I just--"  
  
"No, no, the present can be from both of us. I'd like that." He smiled. "Besides, if I had to buy something from my own funds, he might end up with a few Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills."   
  
There had been a time when he felt rather ashamed and guilty for having no money. Sirius had always paid the rent, bought their food, and cheerfully provided whatever they needed. And Sirius had never complained; on the contrary, he often expressed his great satisfaction in squandering his share of the Black family fortune. Remus had only gradually come to accept that he would never have much money, and that Sirius had plenty, and that Sirius was fine with this situation, and that he himself should be too. Then Sirius had been taken to Azkaban.  
  
"What should we get?" Sirius asked, breaking Remus' reverie. "I wish I could go to Diagon Alley."  
  
"You can't, Sirius," said Remus, much more quickly and firmly than he'd intended. The last thing Sirius needed was another Dumbledore, another guard keeping him safely under lock and key.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Sirius muttered. "But thanks for reminding me, all the same."  
  
Remus touched the tightened jaw until the angry blue eyes met his. "I wish you could, too." He paused, but Sirius evidently had nothing to say. "Well," he said lightly, "what would Harry like?"  
  
Slipping his arm under his pillow, Sirius lay back down, anchoring his body next to Remus'. "Are you going to be here for Christmas?" he asked.   
  
The question of Harry's gift was apparently no longer up for discussion. And frankly, Remus didn't know how often he'd find himself at Grimmauld Place over the next weeks. If he had his way, he'd spend the entire time here at home -- as much as this place could be called "home." His mind flickered briefly to a small London flat that barely contained a werewolf and the most restless man in the wizarding world. A flat he'd occupied alone for a few months, before selling it and moving on. He hastily blocked the image; there was enough discontentment and bitterness in Sirius to make up for both of them. Instead, he thought of one of his mother's tatty old cushions, with an embroidered cottage, smoke rising from its chimney, "Home is where the heart is" stitched above the cottage in an arch.  
  
Well, if that was true, then this was home. Right here with Sirius, mold and decay, a black-hearted servant, and a screaming portrait. Funny, really, how much soppy thoughts like that could have the same effect as a block of chocolate after a Dementor attack.  
  
With every second of Remus' silent consideration of an answer, Sirius' face had darkened more. "I don't know," he said finally -- a vague and unhelpful answer that could have been provided a lot sooner. He rolled onto his side, slipping one leg snugly through Sirius'. "I'm going to be here as much as I can," he murmured.  
  
"Don't worry about it. Do what you have to do. I've spent fourteen Christmases alone, so I'm rather used to it now, really."  
  
Remus patiently ignored this petulance. He had soon discovered after coming to live here that Sirius was still the overgrown, twenty-year-old boy he had known long ago -- as if Azkaban had frozen him in time. Occasionally his thoughts would turn even darker, dwelling on the idea that Azkaban had ruined him. But it felt traitorous to even entertain the thought that something could ruin Sirius. Traitorous and much too upsetting. He had never noticed Sirius' faults then as much as he did now, observing them with the mind and feelings of a man. To be fair, though, those faults had never included this sullen depression, which often all too quickly exploded into fits of temper. Sirius Black did not like being contained. He had escaped Azkaban, and Remus sensed every day that he was thinking and plotting his escape from this place as well.  
  
"I spent quite a few Christmases alone myself," he said calmly, soothing the reminder with a brief kiss. "But not this year. I promise I'll be with you."  
  
Sirius smiled and shifted himself even closer. "Even if Dumbledore asks you to storm the Ministry with an army of nifflers?"  
  
"Even then," Remus laughed, then grew serious again. "This will be your first real Christmas in a long time." He didn't know why that hadn't struck him until this moment.   
  
"Now what should we get for Harry?"  
  
Well, Remus supposed, if Sirius could change the subject so suddenly earlier, there was no reason why he wouldn't then bring it back up again. "Is there something he needs?" Remus asked.  
  
"Besides the truth about the prophecy?" Sirius seemed to have caught the warning look in Remus' eyes, because he hurried on. "Well, he and his friends are teaching themselves Defense."  
  
"Yes?" Remus prompted.  
  
"They might need supplies. A good instruction book, maybe."  
  
Remus contemplated this. "A set's been published recently," he said. "The reviewer at the Prophet loved it. Called it the definitive work on Defense, if I remember right. But it's probably expensive."  
  
"Want to get that, then?" Sirius asked. "If anyone needs to learn that stuff, it's Harry."  
  
"I know."   
  
Because someday soon, Harry would learn the truth about the prophecy that had cost James and Lily their lives. The prophecy that brought about October 31, 1981, the night that split Remus' life into two pieces with sharp, jagged edges. Betrayal was a razor-sharp blade, but it never made a clean cut.  
  
They were quiet again for some time, then Remus lost track of whatever he'd been thinking of, as Sirius rolled him onto his back and moved over him. Well, whatever he was thinking couldn't have been as pleasant as the way Sirius was trailing kisses down his throat.   
  
"I love you," Sirius mumbled against his skin, and Remus closed his eyes. The last time he heard those words, he was nineteen, and Sirius said them almost in his sleep, with one arm draped over Remus' chest. By the time Remus had recovered the faculties of speech required to respond, Sirius was asleep. Now the words made him want to get dressed, walk with Sirius out of this wretched house, and disappear somewhere far away.   
  
He settled for murmuring "Sirius," arching himself closer to the slowly wandering lips, and burying one hand in the dark, sleep-flattened hair.  
  
Yes, Azkaban had taken some of the life out of Sirius, drowning him for twelve years in an increased knowledge of his own faults and failures. But it had also brought out some of the qualities that made Remus love him. Every virtue had become more potent, more urgent. His sense of loyalty, solid even when he was a young boy, was now so fierce that it sometimes seemed frightening. His boundless energy -- restlessness, recklessness, whatever they chose to call it -- seemed to strain the walls of Grimmauld Place until Remus could almost hear them creaking with the effort to contain him. He had a stronger belief in frankness and honesty, no longer satisfied with comfortable half-truths. And his passion, Remus reflected as he tilted his head back and opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling, had survived the Dementors to become more consuming than it ever was.  
  
His view of the ceiling was obscured by unruly hair, followed by a pair of darkened eyes, as Sirius' mouth covered his own. Remus smiled into the kiss and pushed Sirius slightly away from him. "And what do you want for Christmas, Mr. Padfoot?" he asked.  
  
"To get out of here."  
  
Remus tucked strands of hair behind Sirius' ear. "Then you'll get out of here," he said quietly. Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Remus stopped him with a brief kiss. Someone had to be willing to take this risk for him. Didn't he usually risk everything for other people? "Some afternoon when no one else is here, we'll sneak out. Go to a Muggle park or something."  
  
Sirius grinned. "Remember that one by our..." He trailed off, and the grin faded.  _Our flat_ , he had been about to say. The park where they had once engaged in entirely inappropriate conduct, late at night on one of the benches. The park where Sirius had stormed away, not to speak to Remus again until they met again in the Shrieking Shack thirteen years later.  
  
"We won't go there," Remus said quietly. "Maybe we could fly, if we left at night. I could Disillusion you--"  
  
"That's been done to great effect already," said Sirius with a wry laugh that made Remus' stomach twist. Then he smiled. "No, I'd love to fly. Where would we go?"  
  
"Anywhere you want." Every part of Remus' brain protested against the utter stupidity of this scheme, but he ignored it completely. Sirius needed this. "Anywhere you want," he repeated, more to make it final to himself.  
  
"Anywhere I want," whispered Sirius. Then he kissed Remus firmly and deeply, slipping his hand behind Remus' head, pulling him closer. "And where do  _you_  want me to go?" he asked in a low voice, his mouth wandering downwards.  
  
Remus sat up slightly and allowed Sirius to pull off his shirt. "You seem to have the general idea already."  
  
"Hmmm. South? I like going there." Sirius kissed his way slowly lower, tasting skin while Remus murmured his satisfaction. He paused over Remus' stomach, looked up, and grinned. "So does Buckbeak, by the way."  
  
Remus laughed, and so did Sirius. He had almost forgotten the meaning of "Happy Christmas," but this year, they would both remember again.


End file.
